


The Princess and the Gladiator

by rowanrt7



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Fluff, Historical, Roman AU, are we still doing that tag?, or have I been on the internet too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:13:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanrt7/pseuds/rowanrt7
Summary: Roman AU where Clarke is a princess and Bellamy a gladiator. She held his life in her hands, and let him live, so the least he can do is say thank you. Right?





	The Princess and the Gladiator

**Author's Note:**

> Idk guys, I just love these sorts of things. Make everything AU!

When he first saw the famed Princess of Troy, it was through the haze of a dying man’s blood. It caught in his eyes, and clung to his skin in dry, itchy patches. She sat above the bloodshed, her dress white despite the dusty August air, her ropes of silver jewelry brighter than the sun reflected in them. Bellamy paused, his sword plunged through the second and third ribs of Antioch, a man he had broken his fast with just this morning. 

It was a testament to his training that he felt nothing for the man who yesterday had trained beside him. He was more interested in the Trojan Princess. The royal family had a box front and center of the action, but they rarely occupied it. Perhaps with the ramp-up for the Mycenae delegation visiting this week, and then the tragedy festival at the turn of the moon, the public eye was increasing. He had fought in this arena for two years now, but he had never seen her before. She sat next to her father, in the throne traditionally reserved for the Queen. She was beautiful, brighter than the sandstone lattice walls, her back straighter than a spear. 

This passed out of his mind in a moment, and his stomach tensed. There was a moment in every arena when the king stood up, and declared whether the winner lived through to his next bout. It was in his best interest to keep Bellamy alive, as that was how he got next week's entertainment, but the King was not well-renowned for being predictable.

Instead of delivering a verdict, the King leaned over to his daughter. The crowd leaned in, straining to hear the words. Bellamy had no chance to breathe, so causally did this man hand over his life to the little girl all dressed in white like a vestal virgin.

She rose from her chair, her eyes fixed on his. The great collar of pounded silver that she wore winked sun into his eyes, and he closed his eyes, the world dark for just an instant. When he looked to her again, she was watching the crowd. Her face was still. Behind him, he could feel the ax man looming, waiting.

Her lips curved into a slight smile and she nodded. 

His breath whooshed out of him and he rose, his knees shaking with exhaustion. At some point, Antioch had died. But he would live another day. Bellamy yanked his sword from the warm flesh. It needed cleaning.

That evening, after he was bathed and dressed, he was taken to the palace for a banquet in his honor. He was seated in a place of honor with the others. The royal family arrived after everyone else, in deference to their rank. 

She’d changed clothes. Now, she wore blue and her hair was caught in a shimmering band. What a life she must have, to change clothes twice a day. What were her troubles like? He wanted to know. They put her far away from him, at the right hand of her father, sequestered between his majesty and one of the Mycenaean lot, who preferred to wear his wealth. Her too, though when she sat, he noted her underdress was simple white cotton. Maybe not her idea to wear the jewels.

Although he had been fed after his fight, the food soon distracted him from the princess. After all, there was so much of it. He blocked everything else out and concentrated on consuming as much roast as he could and some of the excellent, uncut wine. Several courses later, the room was louder, the women’s dresses looser.

The King lounged on his chair, an empty goblet in hand. Beads of wine clung to its rim, remnant rubies, which remembered the wine that had been there once. “Blake!” He roared. Bellamy, deep in his own cups, looked up only when his burly neighbor slapped him on the back, and pointed up the table. 

“You performed admirably, gladiator. Ask for what you wish, and you will have it!”

Ask for your freedom said the voice in his head that sounded like his sister. Ask for money said the voice that sounded like his trainer.

“I want an audience with Princess Clarke,” he said. He met her eye. She was closer now than she had been this afternoon, but still too far away for his taste. “A private audience.”

Silence rolled through the room, as oppressive as early morning fog. One of her eyebrows lifted.   
The king procured only a single word. “Why?”

With effort, he drew his gaze back to the man who owned him. “I wish to thank the woman who saved my life.” It was a good answer, and it came to his tongue readily, despite being a complete lie. If he had to articulate the truth, he wasn’t sure he would be able to.

The king’s laugh broke the tension. “I offer you anything in my power and you want nothing more than a conversation? You are an interesting man Blake.” He paused to take a sip of wine. “However, what you ask is not in my power to give. Clarke?”

Once again, the princess Clarke stared at him with her still eyes. He couldn’t help but feel she would be an asset in battle, making choices with that same poise and calculation. Once again, she nodded. “One hour,” she said, and it was the first time he heard her voice. She spoke with the same command as her father, though without the wine blurred edge.

The meal progressed, but he kept one eye on her, and so he noticed when she beckoned a servant to her side. That the servant then came to his side surprised him not at all. He was shown to a gauzy sort of room. Curtains blew inward on the sunset wind. Pillows were piled on every available surface, which consisted mostly of low, long couches. The servant, a moon faced girl of about 15 bowed and shut the door on him. There was no one else there, but Bellamy’s fingers itched for a knife, an ax, anything to hold. Custom demanded you leave all weapons at the palace doors, but dread pooled in his stomach, and having a sword would allay it. Slightly. 

A door he hadn’t noticed open and he jumped up partially. He wasn’t used to not noticing things, but the door had been painted so as to resemble the checkered walls. Princess Clarke came through, dressed in all her finery, and as promised, alone. She sat delicately on the edge of one of the chairs, as if she too were expecting carnage. She had something in her hands he couldn’t see.

Minutes passed. Laughter resounded from downstairs. Finally, the princess said, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I don’t know how to begin.” 

“I find it’s helpful to begin at the beginning,” she smiled. “I’m Clarke.”

“Bellamy Blake.”

“I suppose we both knew that already.” The object in her hand was revealed to be an hourglass, which she set on the table between them. Sand trickled slowly down. The soft hiss of it filled the room.

There was something in her manner which he didn’t understand. Her smiles, though sweet, did not touch his heart the same way that still stare did. Up close, he could see she was just as beautiful as he would expect. Her cheeks were round, flushed with the party and a lifetime of good food. She wore jewelry well, naturally, as if she were born to it. But her eyes, eyes like still water didn’t draw him in so much as he’d expected. He shoved aside a pang of disappointment. 

“I thank you, princess, for saving my life. It was an act of mercy I did not deserve.”

And then, all at once, her wall came down in a huff of air. “Now, don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” he asked, a little startled at the light rushing into her eyes.

“Don’t play stupid. You know as well as I that my saving your life was my protecting a valuable commercial asset. If you’d had any sense at all, you would have asked my father for your freedom.”

“That would have deprived you of your asset.” He hit the last word with perhaps a touch too much sarcasm. 

“Yes,” she said, “which is why I did not suggest it in the moment. You and I will have our conversation, and tomorrow, or the next day, or a year from now, you will lose your public, and the spectacle of your death will be all that is left to appease them.”

“Why should that annoy you? There are others, I’m sure, to feed the crowds.”

“It’s not that I’m annoyed by that,” she said, “It’s that I am annoyed ... we’re completely alone.”

Bellamy was beginning to wonder if he had imagined the cleverness he’d seen in her face. “We are,” he agreed slowly.

A real smile lit her face. “I can’t remember the last time I was completely alone.”

“Well, I’m here,” he pointed out, with a hint of annoyance.

She waved her hand to acknowledge his words, as if to say, well yes, but no one important. And then she pulled off the sapphire earrings she wore, which were so long as to graze her collarbone. She dropped them as if they were common stones onto the table, following it quickly with the band which kept her hair away from her face, and then that silver collar which had so blinded him earlier in the day. Curls fell into her face as she rolled her head from side to side. “That’s so much better,” she said.

His laugh was so sudden it startled even him. Quickly, he pressed his lips together. Although he had never been taught the finer points of etiquette, laughing at royalty could not be a good idea. Thankfully, she also laughed, and gathering her jewels up, she pressed them into his hands. “Tell me gladiator, which is heavier, this or a sword?” 

It didn’t escape his notice that this was the most amount of money he would ever hold. “That’s not fair. This is three things. A sword is only one.” He understood her point though. While not unbearably heavy, they had a weight to them which he knew would grow throughout the night as one became fatigued. “What’s this part at the back?” A triangle of the same silver hung from the back. 

“A counterweight,” she said, bringing a finger to her lip, “but don’t tell. Women’s secrets and all that.” She took the gems back from him, her hand catching against his as she did so. Clearing her throat, she stood and put the jewelry on a side table. “So,” she said, sitting properly on the chaise. “What would you like to talk about?”

“What’s your life like?” he asked.

For a long moment, there was no response. Then, she said,“No one’s asked me that before.” And then, taking a deep breath, “Let me tell you.”

And she did. She talked about the hours it took to run a royal household in the absence of a proper queen. She talked about the prince of Mycenae, a rather scrawny looking boy he’d noticed earlier at the banquet, and to whom she was betrothed to marry, despite never having spoken three words together to the man. She talked about trade relations and alliances, and how she was expected to know these things, but never offer a dissenting opinion, that she was to know all the strategy a prince would in addition to all the pageantry of a princess. As she spoke, the candles sank, dripping wax into gold dishes and the party below them raged on, each small dip in noise spurred back to life by another round of music and dancing. 

He let her talk, more interested than he thought possible, until she ran out of breath. She stretched, and a crashing awareness of the hour flooded him. They were nearing the end of their time, and he was emboldened by the past hour to ask something he had had no intention of asking.

“I would ask another favor of you princess,” 

Clarke stood. Although her hair was still pinned up, losing the band had loosened it somewhat. “Now you want your freedom Blake?”

“No,” he said quietly. 

Clarke looked at him, her face carefully blank. Only her eyes swirled, shifting between blue and grey in the fading lamp light She turned away from him, and began refastening her earrings. “I’ve no favors left to grant Bellamy. If you want something, come take it.” Clarke moved in front of a looking glass, fingers fumbling with the clasp on her necklace. He couldn’t see her face, but he had a suspicion that she knew exactly what she was doing. Therefore, he lowered his voice to a growl.

“That’s a dangerous game, princess. I might take more than you’re willing to part with.”

He moved behind her, covered her hands with his own. Obediently, she bent her neck forward, waiting for him to clasp it. Instead, he let the necklace clang onto the table in front of her, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck. With his thumb, he brushed the top of her spine. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she turned, his hand sliding smoothly as to cradle her neck. A smile played around her mouth, and his suspicions were confirmed. A wave of something he did not take the time to identify rose in him.

The realization that it was anger broke as he kissed her. It was, to start, a savage kiss. Though she responded immediately to his touch, all Bellamy could taste was his own anger. Anger at the life that had been forced upon him. Anger at his slavery, and even anger towards her, this beautiful woman whose face tipped up instantly, and whose lips parted eagerly. How dare she anticipate his every move, even this one, which he had not meant to make. It was not a feeling he was familiar with, and he wanted to show her that she could not. He slammed her into the side table, not using his full strength of course, but hard enough that a little huff of air escaped her lips.

She raised one hand and slid it along his cheek into his hair, the way one calms a lost puppy, and his body relaxed. For a moment she held him still, away from her face by just a fraction, and he was afraid to open his eyes, knowing that she would be looking at him. Then, she pressed her lips to his once more. There was a question in the way she moved with deliberate gentleness. He wanted his answer to be yes. 

He tightened his grip on her, and relaxed into the kiss. Kissing Clarke felt as though there was not enough time to taste her, smell her. Some exotic floral fragrance clung to her hair, releasing waves of scent each time his hand shifted on her neck. He kissed her as slowly as he could manage, taking the time to tuck away information about her, like the way she bit his lip playfully and the way she wrapped her hands into his hair, drawing him as close as she could.

When she pulled away from him, something was different. It took a moment to register that the soft swishing of sand through the hourglass had stopped. Their time was up. Clarke wiggled out from between him and the sideboard, scooping up her necklace as she did so.

“Ask my father for your freedom, Bellamy. Before the night is out; for what was granted to you was in my power, not his.”

“What?” Bellamy asked. He was still a little stunned for he could still feel the softness of her beneath his fingers, and she was reacting as if they had merely had a pleasant conversation.

For just a moment, she turned back to him. Her eyes had already returned to their calm silence, although her mouth was wine red with his kiss. “You still have a favor. Ask for your freedom, and you will have everything you want.” For an instant, her eyes darkened with some emotion that could've been lust, but could've been regret. And then she was gone, darting through the door that was not a door, leaving him alone. He scoffed. That was a princess for you. Turned her emotion off before the kiss was even half done. He felt cheated somehow. 

Almost instantly, a servant knocked and then entered. “I’ll show you back to the banquet sir?” asked the girl who had shown him in. Had she sat outside the entire time? He nodded mutely, Clarke’s words ringing in his ears. You can everything you want.

“Well,” Bellamy said quietly to himself, “Not everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please show me some love in the form of kudos and comments. I crave validation in these things you know. Also, I'm considering doing a companion from Clarke's point of view. Thoughts?


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